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Dear Santa,
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited
the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money
to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over
several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a
receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time
in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which
I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are
strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the
grocery store
I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of
my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant
windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't
broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret
compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental
confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the
way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and
"Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out
of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time
to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of
eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a
Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season.
Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.
It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding
payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry
room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your
wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies
on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always, MOM...!
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited
the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money
to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over
several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a
receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time
in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which
I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are
strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the
grocery store
I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of
my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant
windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't
broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret
compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental
confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the
way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and
"Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out
of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time
to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of
eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a
Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season.
Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.
It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding
payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry
room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your
wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies
on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always, MOM...!
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa
...Was in HEAVEN -got to 150, for awhile, then got too busy, and gave in too much... and... OK holding pattern "keep it together..." 
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